Southern Comfort
by N3GatorFan
Summary: Tea is Henry's go-to drink every time he needs comfort without dulling his thought process. While he and Jo are in Florida for a case, a blast from his past creates a craving for the soothing beverage. What he experiences while he waits for it proves to be worth more than he believes. One-shot. Set some time after 1x22.


_**Disclaimer**_: The concept, canon, and canon characters belong to _Forever_ creator Matt Miller and Warner Bros. Studios. All other characters, the plot for the story, and Henry's flashbacks are my own creation. I have posted my story here, and I don't profit from it. (Translation: I don't own _Forever_, but if I did, we would learn whether Henry has ever visited the state.)

**Author's Note**: For those following _Tidings of Comfort and Joy_, I'm truly sorry that I didn't finish it when I promised or on the schedule in which I had promised. I wanted to complete it, but things came up which forced me to take time off away from the story. I, however, do plan to complete it and post the rest of it as soon as I can, starting with Chapter 5. In the meantime, here is a one-shot that I was inspired to write. I hope you will enjoy it.

* * *

Henry stared out the window at the glistening Hillsborough River. The restaurant where he and Jo had chosen to dine vanished, taking Jo along with it. A row of two-story, wooden warehouses with night watchmen towers sprung up in their place, and the news station and other modern buildings on the other shore morphed into long-forgotten businesses and an armory.

Once again, he shivered as he dashed for the alley formed by two local wholesale grocers' warehouses. He took a minute to breathe a sigh of relief and to take comfort in the walls' shadows before easing down the path toward the road behind him.

As he studied the street, another shiver, this time stronger, shook his body. He wrapped his arms around him and pulled them tightly against his chest. What he wouldn't give for a hot bath and a cup of tea right now. Tampa's location near the tropics had promised a very pleasant swim should this have happened. With the winter wind blowing off of the river, his awakening spot was almost as frigid as Manhattan's East River.

The full moon glinted off the Plant Hotel's Moroccan-style roof in the distance. He panted. How would he explain to his wife of four years that an electric streetcar had hit him during his return from visiting patients? Esperanza's skeptical nature saw through his attempts to conceal his past from her, but he had always dissuaded her from inquiring into the matter any further. This, however….

"Had you seen the naked man coming out of the river?"

Henry gulped. He silently pleaded for them to pass by without giving a thought to checking his current sanctuary.

"You don't suppose he plans to break into the warehouse?"

"He might have. Let's go find out."

Hearing their footsteps growing louder, Henry squared his shoulders and gathered his courage. He pointed himself toward the hotel where his wife and children were likely sleeping and pushed himself away from the wall. He would rather take his chances with Esperanza. She might believe that he was mad, but at least she wouldn't mistake him for a burglar.

He sped through the city, keeping an eye out for any patrol officer whom he would meet. Once back at the hotel, he clutched the abandoned newspaper which he had found near the feed store against his waist. He pressed his lips together and nodded at his neighbors strolling through the lobby. As soon as they were out of sight, he raced up the stairs, through the hall, and to his room.

He reached for the knob and stopped short of turning it. He stared at his hand. Perhaps he should slip into the room, pack his clothes, and leave. As it was a common practice, others wouldn't think much ill of him abandoning his family. Esperanza could take the money and the possessions which he would leave behind, move herself and the children back to Denver, and start their lives anew without fretting about him forcing them to move again because of his condition.

Henry heard the rustling of bed sheets on the other side. Judging from the sounds of things, Mateo was changing his position on the bed.

Henry's heart ached within him. Mateo and Consuela had indeed been a gift and a comfort to him since their births. What he wouldn't give to spend as much time with them as possible.

He twisted the handle and eased in, taking care to not wake up anyone. Oblivious to their father's return, Mateo and Consuela slept on the hard-won bed which their parents had insisted on when they had checked into the hotel. Esperanza laid in the larger bed beside them, her right arm resting gently against her head and her hand on the pillow.

He cast a wary gaze at the niche concealing the tub from view. A bath now would be unthinkable. Consuela would wake up at the sound of the running water. As Esperanza had had a difficult time with Consuela's teething….

Esperanza stirred and lifted herself off the bed. Henry's heart pounded in his chest. He gulped as he met his wife's eyes. _What if tonight is the night my life with her and the children ended? What would I do if she __sent__ me to an asylum?_

"_Mi amor_, where were you? We had expected you back earlier tonight."

"A patient needed my assistance for longer than I had planned." That much was true.

Knowing she would like to hear about it, he dipped his head for a moment to gather his thoughts. "One of Plant's railroad workers had suffered a gash on his leg while working on a railway car. The man's supervisor had summoned me to the area. When I arrived, he was bleeding profusely. It took a while to stop the bleeding and to stitch him up."

Her eyes traced a path along his body. After a couple of moments which felt like an eternity, she returned to his face. "What happened to your clothes? And why are you wet?"

"I don't wish to discuss it."

He inwardly groaned at his brusque voice. He had promised himself that he would never express his irritation toward her. He had done that with Nora, and he had always believed it was one reason she had refused to ask for his release from the asylum.

"Henry." Esperanza tilted her head toward his pillow. "You've been more secretive than you usually are since that elderly sailor from the Hudson Bay Company had encountered you while we were shopping on Main Street in Denver three months ago. Is it true? Were you on the same ship with him in 1843? If so, what does that mean? Does it mean that you are ageless as in the myths that I had read as a child? And how did you survive the powder keg's explosion?"

Hearing Nora's words rise from the dead, Henry bowed his head and drew in a deep breath. How much longer could he keep up the charade? Sooner or later, he must tell Esperanza the truth.

The warm air around him chilled, sending yet a third strong tremor through his body. He crawled into bed with her. Perhaps another time. Tonight, he was too cold to talk.

He pulled his covers up around him as a weariness he didn't know he possessed enveloped his body. He briefly closed his eyes. It would be easy to fall asleep right now.

"Can we talk about it in the morning?" With the children's demands on them, Mateo and Consuela wouldn't give Esperanza the opportunity to revisit the night's conversation. "I'm exhausted from today."

She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "We will discuss this later. I want to hear the story."

As he closed his eyes again, he snuggled into his bedding. Hopefully, one day, she would see how much his past pained him and divert her attentions elsewhere. He loved her, but he had no desire to learn what she had planned for him when he would divulge his secret.

Henry bowed his head and wiped the corners of his eyes. Perhaps he could have found his courage and let Esperanza in on his immortality. Perhaps his family would have accepted him for what he was, and he could have led the life he had dreamed about when he had married Nora. And perhaps Abigail and Abe would have enjoyed a relatively normal life in New York fifty years later.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

Henry blinked back the memories and took a moment to regain his bearings. He looked up at the waitress waiting for him, her pen poised perfectly over her pad.

He plastered a smile on his face and hoped she didn't notice his tears. "An Earl Grey tea with milk and a lump of sugar." Adding the sugar first made the beverage too sweet for his personal liking. Given the situation, though, he could tolerate the kitchen staff reversing the order in which they were added.

The waitress studied his face. "We don't serve that here. We have…."

Swallowing back his irritated huff, he maintained his gaze upon her. "An Earl Grey tea will be fine."

The young woman gave him an askew glance before turning to Jo. "And you, ma'am?"

Jo looked up at the other woman. "I'll take a coffee."

"I'll be back in a minute." Their server pivoted toward the kitchen. As she approached the doors, two of her colleagues gathered around her. She spoke for a moment before nodding in his direction.

Henry lowered his head and folded his hands in front of him. He shouldn't have been so curt with her. She was merely doing her job, and he had made it more difficult for her with his tone of voice. Perhaps he should apologize to her when she returned with his drink.

Feeling the memories' tug back into his past, he turned away and gazed out the window. He propped his elbow onto the table, balled his hand into a fist, and set his lips against it. He had felt off ever since he and Jo had taken their first look at the city while aboard the airplane. He had initially assumed that it was the lack of familiarity of their destination. With the case's developments, though….

A pair of hands enclosed around the one laying on the table. He startled. Was someone here to take him away from Jo?

The hands squeezed his. His heart quickening, Henry summoned his courage and dared to look at his captor.

His eyes widened. How was this possible?

Jo's eyes roamed his. "Are you okay?"

The room suddenly became void of air. He took several controlled, deep breaths, hoping she wouldn't notice his growing panic.

She squeezed his hand again. "You've been uncharacteristically quiet since we've discovered our gunshot victim in Central Park. What's wrong?"

He willed his lips into a smile. "Really? I hadn't noticed."

"Henry." Her crisp tone and stern expression jarred his attention and ordered it to stay put. "I know when you're lying. This isn't the first time a case has affected you like this, and I've seen what it can do to you when you keep it to yourself. Come on, tell me what's wrong."

He studied her face. As much as he hated to admit it, she was correct. In every case which hinted at an aspect of his condition, Henry had elected to remain silent about the reminders in hopes everyone would not acknowledge them or ask him about his reaction to the clues. Yet, his decision had always lead him to places in his mind in which he had never had any intention of occupying., and he had lived to regret the consequences of his actions.

Henry surveyed the room, expecting their waitress to appear or their fellow patrons listening to them. He inwardly breathed out a sigh of relief as the young woman was no longer in view and as the diners enjoyed their meals in peace.

He huffed and momentarily bowed his head. It would be simple to tell Jo that he had lived here as a child while his father had served the military. If she asked him how it reconciled with his father being Abe's business partner and co-owner of the shop, he could claim that it was his father's last assignment before the older Morgan had left for civilian life.

His unkept promise to himself about sharing his immortality with her one day echoed in Henry's mind. He swallowed. She deserved the truth, even if it meant losing her friendship, and perhaps a chance at something more, with her for all eternity. He wasn't sure how much longer he could avoid this conversation.

He took another deep breath, this time to still his emotions, and found the courage to look at her. _Here goes._

"Truthfully, it's bringing back memories that I wish I could forget." Specifically, Mateo's and Consuela's deaths from malaria two years after their arrival in Tampa and learning of Esperanza's own death from a broken heart after returning from Cuba with Teddy Roosevelt and his Rough Riders shortly after that. Not to mention, everything surrounding his first death in 1814.

"I, um…." He rummaged his mind for the next words. "I…."

"Like what caused the scar on your chest?"

Henry froze. What did she possibly know about that? Jo's powers of observation and deduction rivaled his own, but she could not have deduced the truth from their victim's wound from someone else's flintlock pistol.

He took another look around the dining area and charted a course for the exit. Was it possible that an escaped Adam had told her what had created it, and she had arranged to send him to a company like Aterna? Or was she planning to hand him over to the government, like Adam's betrayers had during World War II? Or…?

Jo eased up into an almost standing position and leaned over the table, stopping short of his face. Her warm brown eyes stared into his. Ordinarily, he would enjoy the view, but, now, he didn't know what to make of it.

"I felt what's beneath your scar after your first visit to McSorley's." Her soft voice washed over him like a gentle summer rain. "There's a reason you're still here instead of lying in the ground back in London. And my opinion of you has not changed one bit since I've figured out why."

She eased back down, letting go of his hands long enough to adjust her seat. He gaped at her as her words registered in his mind. Was it possible? Had she deduced the truth that fateful night, and she had chosen to keep her knowledge a secret this entire time to protect him?

His mind reeled from the implications. He shut his eyes and bowed his head in case any emotions forced their way to the surface. He couldn't believe it. She had chosen to remain his friend when she could have made her move during his three and a half-week, self-imposed hiatus from work. She had come to the shop to tell him that she had chosen to see how their relationship would work instead of finding lasting love with another mortal. She had known that his investigation into Abigail's fate and his search for Adam's _pugio_ were personal, yet she had chosen to cover for him and to encourage him to lean on her for support during that difficult time. Instead of arresting him for his actions after he had confronted Adam, she had chosen to hear him out….

...And she had chosen to remain his friend and partner in spite of him losing the courage to let her fully into his life on multiple occasions.

A breath caught between his chest and his throat. He exhaled, and it vanished as suddenly as it appeared. Sure, he had imagined this happening—but with him telling her—since he had first realized how much he trusted her. In the back of his mind, however, he had often wondered when she would reject him. He had never expected her to accept him so fully.

Jo traced the back of his hand with her thumb. He smiled, squirmed in his seat, and attempted to stifle a growing chuckle. Man, she didn't know how delightful her touch was right now.

Reminding himself of the stage in their relationship, he reluctantly opened his eyes. Air caught in his throat again as he found himself captured in Jo's gaze. How was it possible for fate to direct this wonderful woman into his path? For her to befriend him when he had least expected it? For him to agree to follow her wherever she led him? Had he known about her, he would have never pursued a cure for his condition after Abigail's disappearance.

Jo offered him a smile. "If you want to talk about it, we can talk tonight." She lowered her head for a second. "I don't want you to go to whatever dark place you head off for when you get like this."

Somehow feeling much lighter than he had in years, he returned her smile. "I think I'll take you up on your offer." It would feel fantastic to tell her the full story of his life.

The doors to the kitchen creaked open before Jo could answer. Henry looked up in time to see their waitress appear in the threshold and then direct herself toward them.

Henry took a deep breath. Perhaps he could find another—howbeit, this time, small—taste of comfort now.

The young woman placed a coffee cup in front of Jo. He wrinkled his eyes as the waitress set another one in front of him.

She caught his eye. "I'm sorry we're out of tea cups. The back staff suggested I should pour your tea into this."

Henry maintained his gaze on her. "It'll be quite fine." He scoffed. "I've done that myself when I haven't washed dishes the night before." Which was usually after his cup of chamomile tea which he had consumed to snatch some much-needed sleep during an emotionally difficult case.

The waitress looked from Henry to Jo and back again. "I'll be back to take your order."

He started to open his mouth to apologize to her. She spun around and headed back to the kitchen.

Henry drew in some air. Oh, well. He and Jo had the rest of their meal. He could apologize to her before he left or give her a generous tip to make up for his earlier behavior. Thirty percent ought to do it.

He picked up the cup, sniffed the beverage, and wrinkled his eyebrows. Earl Grey's citrus notes were uncharacteristically absent.

He shrugged. Perhaps they had used a different blend here. Or perhaps they went with a black tea or oolong variety instead.

He took a sip and then peered past the cup. It wasn't as malty as he was accustomed to, but it would suffice.

He drank some more. This time, the cold, salty liquid washed over his tongue and swirled around his numbing cheeks. He started to gag. A moment later, he spat the mess back into the cup and wiped his mouth.

"What?" Jo tilted her head, her eyebrows arching up with concern.

Henry scraped as much of the disgusting residue off his tongue as possible before returning it back to the cup. He gestured to it. "Our waitress ruined my tea."

He tilted his cup toward him and studied the contents. "This concoction tastes like salty vase water with ice added to it."

Jo grinned. "How do you know what salty vase water tastes like?"

"Trust me. You don't want to know." It, however, involved a four-year-old Abe's disastrous first attempt to make breakfast for his father for Father's Day.

Jo bit her lower lip, attempting to hide her laugh. Henry placed the cup back on the table and searched the room for their waitress. She stood near the wall, taking another customer's order.

Soon, she strolled back to them. He squared his shoulders and straightened his back. He hated to berate someone else's employee, but this treatment was unjustifiable.

She smiled at him the moment she arrived at the table. "How is everything?"

His anger left him. He glanced at the concoction. There was no way he could drink what he had been given.

He picked up the offensive drink and set it closer to the table. "It seems like my tea had soured before the kitchen had prepared it. Could you replace it for me?"

"Sure." She removed the cup from its spot. "What can I get you?"

He glanced at Jo's drink before turning back to the young woman. "Coffee, black." The simpler, the better.

"I'll be back in a moment." She smirked and strutted toward another guest behind them.

Henry inhaled and blew it out through his nose before schooling his features "Well, that was rude."

He turned to Jo, and his body relaxed. He smiled and slightly shook his head. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was looking forward to thanking her for comforting him for as long as she would let him.

* * *

**Mini-****Epilogue: ** That night, Henry sits on Jo's side of the room they're sharing and tells her everything. It takes all night to get through his entire story and her questions about his condition, his past, and some of his concerns. (His true relationship to Abe comes as an almost total surprise to her.) As for the waitress, Henry never gets the chance to apologize for his snapping at her, and he gives the woman a 15% tip instead of his typical 20%…or the 30% he had settled on earlier.

**Author's**** Note:** I usually have a little fun with Jo's coffee habit in several of my stories. I, however, couldn't resist writing what would happen if a waitress added salt (or substituted sugar for it) in a glass of iced tea. (The first two-thirds of the story was unplanned.) For those who did not grow up in or do not have relatives who live in the Southeastern United States, iced tea is what is typically served in restaurants in the region. You can find tea bags and leaves for hot tea, but they are usually sold in stores.

Henry and Jo's waitress is based on someone I personally know in real/offline life, and the restaurant is based on the Sheraton Tampa Riverwalk Hotel's restaurant. I took some liberty with a hint about Season 2 I had tried to avoid because I hate spoilers when I created Henry and Esperanza's relationship. Inspiration for Henry and Esperanza's life in Tampa also comes from the Florida Memory Project's blog article "Tampa in the 1890s", the Library of Congress's "Image 3 of Sanborn Fire Insurance Map from Tampa, Hillsborough County, Florida 1899", "Room in the Tampa Bay Hotel–Tampa, Florida" at the Florida Memory Project's web site, and _Naples Daily News_' article "From the Archives: Mosquitoes influenced most of Florida's history". Earl Grey tea's flavor is from Your Tea Blog's "Earl Grey vs. English Breakfast Tea".


End file.
